Page 20 of The Grief We Hold

Wraith manages to school his face, and I immediately miss the way his whole face changed with laughter. The way his eyes seemed bluer and how the laughter lines went right up to the corners of them. It strikes me he doesn’t have too many reasons to smile.

He looked handsome, became a man I’d look twice at. For a moment, I wonder what life has done to him to make his laughter so rare.

He runs a hand over his face. “Sorry. That was fucking funny, though. I’m gonna call him both those names again on occasion. And to answer your question, Smoke would have done whatever he wanted. And Butcher would have done whatever he wanted.”

“Wow. That’s helpful and so twenty-first century of you. Thanks, Wraith.”

Wraith blows out a breath, but puts his thumb on my lower lip, brushing it gently.

“You just need to be a good girl, Raven. You think you can do that for me?”

Everything in me melts, and I feel like such a pushover. I want to tell him that, yes, I can be a good girl. But it conflicts with wanting to stand my ground.

Wraith’s eyes leave mine and glance to his right bicep. My hand grips him tightly, and I have no idea when I did that.

I snatch my hand away and try to step back, but he preempts the move, pinching my lip tightly between his finger and thumb.

“Ah, ah, ah. See, that wasn’t respectful. Was it?” He tugs me closer and lowers his head, so his lips are a hair’s breadth away from mine. Where his cologne smells even better, and his warmth reaches me.

I shove at his chest, suddenly worried for my safety.

He releases my lip immediately. “If you don’t want the attention, dial it down. Braid that fucking hair of yours. Baggier jeans, looser top. Let Margie deal with any bikers who come in here. I’ll tell her to keep you away.”

“I can do my job if you all adapt your behavior a little. I should be able to dress how I like. I don’t deserve to be groped in the workplace. Not by Smoke and not by you. And to be fair, you were the one who started it, acting all caveman, and ‘get your hands off her before I break it.’”

“Wasn’t doing it for you, little Blue. I was doing it for Smoke, so you didn’t haul him in front of some judge saying he assaulted you.”

I shake my head. “Why are you even back here?”

“Been asking myself the same question for the last five minutes.”

We stand almost toe-to-toe, our eyes locked together, an air of expectancy hanging between the two of us. I need to move, but don’t want to.

Maybe I can’t.

Wraith turns me around and scoops his hands under my hair.

“What are you?—?”

“Helping you blend in.” Gently, with deft movements, he braids my hair.

The storeroom is off the kitchen, and while we can still hear the sounds of Floyd cooking and diners chatting, it’s muted. I feel every swish of my hair and brush of his fingers against my neck.

I shiver at the touch, and swear that even in the dim storeroom light, he must be able to see the goose bumps forming on my skin.

As I look over my shoulder, he fishes around in the top pocket of his cut with two fingers and drags out an elastic. He makes short work of wrapping it around the end of my hair, then fists the braid around his hand before putting his lips close to my ear.

“Your face is growing on me. So, take care of it, yeah?”

And with that, he lets me go and leaves our strange encounter.

7

WRAITH

King leads the New Jersey Chapter up the trail to the clubhouse. He wields a mighty sword as the hereditary president of the Iron Outlaws at the national level. The title alone garners him respect.

Under him, we’re flourishing and growing all over the country, and it’s a big deal they’ve come to see us.

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